It’s been almost a year since I typed here. Where has the time gone? Where have I been? Who have I been doing? If I said aliens abducted me and made me their love slave, would you believe me? If I said around the beginning of last March, I had a seizure, fell right off the stage and don’t remember any of it, would you believe that?

Not breaking anything, holding onto the important things

Yeah, I would have rather had the abduction. I kept having seizures for like six months. The doctors told me I shouldn’t be. They had me on some good meds (they made me tired and boring). I apologized to them by having a seizure right in front of them.

The last couple months, I have been better. I stopped taking the drugs and have started to realize when a seizure is coming on. Yes, it is strange to see me one minute on stage flying around a pole with one boob hanging out and the next, sitting on my butt Indian style… with one boob hanging out. But I found if I stop what I am doing when I get the feeling and close my eyes, I don’t break anything, but also I see things.

Naked white girls… oh, wait. I see that at work. What I see when I stop and my brain tries to cross the line between consciousness and seizing, I’m still not sure about. I just know it’s something. What, I’m still working through it.

Anyway, I have a date (yes, I may have bain damage but the lower parts of me still work). Wish me luck!

OK, so I’m a little into singers with attitude. Music often helps channel your feelings when you have to have them. Remembering the pain to music allows you to believe something good comes from everything. Too bad I can’t embed the actual video.

Mr Mann, my boss who has not fired me yet, told me last night when I was working about life in the early 90′s. It’s was a magical time when Must See TV existed and the girl gawking establishments (Gentle Men’s Club to most people) were not filled on Thursday nights. It would seem even lonely men liked their Seinfeld. Who would have know?

Ahh, said this to me as I was changing my top and trying to fit my C cups in an A cup. I don’t mind changing in front of him, though I find it kind of disconcerting he seems to dismiss the naked female in front of him as something to talk to and not about. But, he and Mrs Mann have been in business for a long time. I’m not the first or last blond he has seen trying to defy gravity with stetchable material.

Anyway, he was sipping his water and telling me about the boring 90′s and how he liked the current economic mallaise. Men can’t afford hookers, but staring at naked women was still part of their dispoable income range.

I ask him if he was worried that naked chicks like me may become passe due to the easy accessibility of naked girls on the internet. He scoffed and then said something intersting.

“Pictures of naked girls will never smell like a naked girl.” I stopped fumbling into the oversized jeans which I would let drop in the deneumont of my act to expsoe my lack of underwear, and looked at him.

“What?”

“Guy,” he said starting for the curtain to the stage area, “A man can always see a naked woman if he wants. They have never been hard to find. But to sit down and breath the same air, see the dance of lights on her perspiration, and fantasize that a lovely naked create if close enough to bite, that will never go out of style.” He exited through the curtain. I paused and thought about what he had said.

Reality is what you make it. Naked girls on the internet are still pixels. I’m flesh, but I don’t date anyone at work. To the men who come to see me, they don’t care if that is my reality. To them, 4 vodka tonics in me and I’m theirs.

Mr Mann popped his head back in and said, “Besides, pictures can be airbrushed, but that pimple on your butt is real.” He disappeared.

Oh, that

Yes, I’m not too affected by the economy yet. But when you make your living a dollar bill at a time, you never know when men might want to start keeping their dollar bills. I wonder if I worked in Canada I would be making more money?